Untranslatable
by Kironomi
Summary: A series of one-shots based off untranslatable words from all around the planet. Rating and genre will vary from one chapter to another.
1. L'esprit d'escalier

_L'esprit d'escalier-A witty remark that occurs to you too late, literally on the way down the stairs. "An untranslatable phrase, the meaning of which is that one only thinks on one's way downstairs of the smart retort one might have made in the drawing room."__ Oxford Dictionary of Quotations_

Kurt plunged in and Blaine felt the now almost usual stir of emotions in his chest along with the familiar flutter of thousands of butterflies. The taller of the two grabbed his jacket, tugging Blaine upwards to meet hungry, quick kisses. Like it happened so often at this point, Blaine's knees buckled, lacking any sort of support and he had to lean into Kurt, who did not seem to mind. He dazedly kissed back, but mostly left Kurt to lead; he was best at that, leading and taking the first step.

And then Kurt pressed him against the wall of the house, pushing a wicked leg between his thighs and smirking against Blaine's compliant mouth. _God_, when had his little baby penguin learned to do _that_?

He shuddered, putting his hands on Kurt's sides and and sliding over everything he could: waist, hips, his back and all over again, in a frantic rhythm. Nothing was enough right now, and Blaine wondered what had gotten over Kurt, kissing him like that in front of his own house, where they could be easily be seen by Finn, Carole or worse, Burt.

Kurt licked his Adam apple, which resulted in Blaine momentarily losing his ability to speak, which was fine since he did not need eloquence that very moment anyway. His boyfriend crawled upards again and spend a great deal of time mending Blaine's swollen lips with soft, considerably chaste kisses, and then stop abruptly. Blaine opened his eyes in a haze. He had not realized he had closed them. He shot a confused look at Kurt, but understood the reason behind the forced stop as he took in a dark shadow cut out against the curtains in the living room window. Right. Kurt home by ten o'clock. Right.

The taller of the two teens bit his lip, looking a bit embarrassed.

"That…was hot" he said, quite brilliantly, not daring to look again at the living room's direction.

Kurt stifled a laugh, and when he spoke, his voice was low and seductive.

"I know I am." Then he gave Blaine a quick kiss on the lips, opened the door, made himself presentable and entered the door, waving him goodbye.

Blaine gaped at the door in silent awe for a few moments. When his ragged breathing had somehow subsidized, he finally registered what his boyfriend had said and that he himself had not been particularly witty in his response. If he thought harder about it, he really had not replied at all, hadn't he? Well, that was unacceptable. Clicking his tongue, Blaine went around the house, careful not to step on any bush or trample over Carole's flowers. He stopped just under Kurt's bedroom window.

Picking the smallest stone he could find- a bit of gravel, really-, he threw it against the window, now suddenly fearing Burt would hear the tap on the glass. A few moments after, the window opened and Kurt's surprised face appeared.

"Blaine?" he stage-whispered "What's wrong?"

Blaine grinned and replied in the same volume. "Remember when you said you were hot?"

Kurt made a face. "Of course I do. It was five minutes ago!"

"Well…" he said, giving a little spin "It takes two to tango, darling!"

The boy above him rolled his eyes and laughed "Oh my god, you're such a dork!"

Blaine blew him a kiss, feeling high-spirited and light-headed and indeed like a dork, but in a perfectly good way. "I love you!" he shouted, making Kurt topple over the window sill laughing. "Oh god, did you drink beer or something in the restaurant when I wasn't looking?"

"No, but I am drunk in love!" Blaine exclaimed, and maybe he was a little bit drunk, because he knew he was not making sense at all, just like the last time.

All, of a sudden, a flash of light hit his face and Blaine was forced to look at the bottom floor's window. He gulped.

"G-Good evening, !" Just how many indiscrete windows did this house have?

"Kurt, bed." Burt said, with a very amused tone. The boy above complied, red in the face even as he said his final goodbyes and closed the window.

Blaine looked at Burt. He was suddenly aware that the man had heard every single one of his loving ramblings. "Hum…"

"Goodnight, Blaine."

"Goodnight, ." he said, both relieved and embarrassed. His phone buzzed in his pocket, the only sound at that late in the night. With a smile, Blaine opened it to find a text from Kurt:

_I love you too._


	2. Meraki

_Meraki-This is a word that modern Greeks often use to describe doing something with soul, creativity, or love — when you put "something of yourself" into what you're doing, whatever it may be. _

I could _see_ Kurt's aura.

Sensitivity is a funny thing, in my opinion. If one does not possess it, it's easy to get in all sorts of perilous situations. Tripping into awkward silences and stares when we do not think thoroughly about our remarks or how they will affect the ones we love the most. Those times we are called _insensitive_. That is, if the person cares about us enough. Around strangers, we are only met with cold stares. There is also something called "over-sensitivity", which I had always contemplated as being in a constant hysterical state with no middle, pondered term. People like that are easily affected by everything that surrounds them and they fall, more often than not, into bipolar states induced by what they feel.

Perhaps being insensitive isn't so bad, then. Maybe insensitivity is just the ability of not being easily hurt. Only the thing about insensitive people is that they not perceive what exists beyond themselves. They walk the Earth not aware of the beauty that transcends them because what's in the outside of their little bubble is dangerous and new and dark and perhaps a bit too fascinating.

Before Kurt, I was insensitive. Maybe I am being a bit too harsh towards myself, but I lived in a protective shell of which I was the almighty king and first in the list of things I cared the most about. I was, in many ways, like an isolated plant in a greenhouse. I felt like that.

When Kurt appeared, though, my eyes opened wide for the first time to all the endless possibilities, even if it took a crazy amount of insensitive remarks and confused stares for me to get in line and finally understand that I was in love and that Kurt could correspond my feelings. That day I kissed him must have been the scariest day in my life, not only because I was afraid of rejection, but because I was suddenly aware of everything at once for the first time. I felt his surprise and happiness, mingled with my own, pulsating in the eerily silent room like a heartbeat that connected us both. His soft lips and hands taking, welcoming me in reciprocation as I felt overwhelmed by the events and the way they were unfolding in a way better that I could have possibly imagined.

I understood that all those wonderful things weren't me, but part of me instead. They were happening and I, suddenly greedy for more emotions and needy of more of_ him_ in my life, took them all in and basked in their new-found importance.

And now, I _can_ see Kurt's aura. It's blue, pink, invisible and all the colors in the Universe at the same time. It's beautiful.

Sitting here, in the first row of seats in a packed auditorium, I get to look back to all the rehearsals, all the times he had spontaneously burst into song, all the dramatic intonations, all the times he had smiled when I took him to a show and, especially, the light in his eyes when he was performing, visible even now. I _can_ see Kurt's aura, anima or soul, whatever one wants to call it. It's this flood of an ethereal substance that has nothing to do with the theatrical lights, that fills him to the brim and enhances his presence and voice. I am lucky to have witnessed it enough times to trace down its origin and motive, or else I'd be falling in love all over again, and there's only so much love my sensitive heart can take.

That love and a new perspective of life were the things he gave to me, still present to this day. I only have the ability to love him back, him and the things he does. And a standing ovation every show. I can give him my all, and he can give himself in return.


End file.
